


we never stood a chance (and i’m not sure if it matters)

by Krewlak



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M, OT3, Season 2 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25213057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krewlak/pseuds/Krewlak
Summary: you have to see and then you’ll be.see what?everything.
Relationships: Kate Fuller/Richard Gecko, Kate Fuller/Richard Gecko/Seth Gecko, Kate Fuller/Seth Gecko
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	we never stood a chance (and i’m not sure if it matters)

**Author's Note:**

> reposting this fic for the THIRD time because i can and because i’ve fallen down a rabbit hole of fdtd feelings and i remembered today that writing fic is supposed to be fun and not a job and just. fuck it, you know?
> 
> i really don't like leaving unfinished fics up for years at a time, which is why this thing has been deleted and rewritten and reposted so many times. but i'm really hoping this is the time that i actually get it done. wish me luck!
> 
> side note: if you feel tempted to leave a rude comment because you're not a fan of the ot3, there's this nifty little feature called closing the browser. try it out first.

The wind is blowing through her hair and her eyes are squeezed shut against the sand and dirt. Seth’s hand is on her thigh, squeezing tight to wake her up. But she’s up. She’s been up since they left the Twister. She doesn’t know if she’s ever going to sleep again. 

“Rise and shine,” Seth mutters, pulling his hand away. She almost reaches out to him, almost puts his hand back. It helps her remember that she’s alive and that she made it out. 

But then she remembers him yanking the keys back from her father's hand in the parking lot. She remembers the feeling of his gun pressed into her back at the Dew Drop Inn. She remembers that none of this would have happened if he had just let them _go_. 

Having his hands on her loses some of its charm when she remembers everything those hands have done. 

“Where are we?” she asks, sitting up a little straighter and opening her eyes. The desert is rolling by, endless and empty. She doesn’t think they’re close to much of anything so it doesn’t make sense why they’re slowing down, why he woke her up. 

“Few hours away from the Twister,” Seth says, stopping the car and cutting the engine. “Not that far from the border.”

“The border?” she asks, staring off into the distance. “How are you supposed to get through?” 

“I’m not,” he says. He doesn’t offer any other explanations. He doesn’t even look at her. Her stomach sinks to the floor. “Look. I’m not . . . I am not your father.”

She stiffens, turns to him in her seat. He still won’t look at her. 

“I’m not someone who can take care of you,” he says slowly. His jaw clenches and he swallows. “I’m not someone who can take care of anyone. So. You’re going to drop me in the nearest town and you’ll cross the border and go back to Bethel, Texas or wherever you want to go and try to forget that any of this happened.”

“That’s what I’m going to do?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he says, nodding once as if that finalizes the decision. As if she doesn’t have any say in this. 

“Fuck. You,” she practically hisses before turning in her seat to face forward. She crosses her arms and glares at the road in front of them. 

“Excuse me?” he says, finally turning to look at her. 

“You heard me,” she says.

“And what the hell is your problem? I’m doing what you want! I’m finally setting you free,” he yells, smacking at the steering wheel. She flinches slightly and he turns in his seat, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turn white. “I am doing the right thing for once in my godforsaken life.”

“Shut up, Seth,” she says, shaking her head. “Shut up and drive.”

“Thank god,” he mutters, settling into the driver’s seat. He’s being purposely obtuse. They both know it. “We should be at the border soon.”

“Away from the border, Seth,” she says through clenched teeth. He drops his chin into his chest and groans. 

“Away?” he asks with a scoff. “You want me to drive away from the border.” 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” she snaps back. “You’re not dumping me at the border to go back to an empty house, Seth. To an empty life.”

“So, what? We stick together? You run from the law with me? That your plan?” 

“Hell of a lot better than your plan,” she says with a shrug. She clenches her jaw and tries to fight back the tears that are pooling in her eyes. She will not cry over some two-bit thief from Kansas City. She absolutely will not. 

“Oh really?” he asks. He’s back to that mocking tone she learned to know so well. It makes everything seem like a joke to him. 

“Yes, really,” she says, imitating his nod of finality from before. He stares at her for a minute. She can feel his gaze burning into her cheek but she refuses to turn to him. She’s not backing down from this. She’s not going back to Bethel. Not after everything. Not alone. 

“Fine,” he snaps, turning in his seat again. “Let’s get rambling then, huh?”

-

They stay close to the border for too long. Seth won’t let them get further than a couple of hours from it, convinced she’s going to change her mind and leave him. She’s not. She knows that she should. She should cross and go back to being a teenager, try to carve out some sort of life from the wreckage, try to be something other than this ghost. 

Cause that’s what they are. They’re ghosts haunting the small border towns that they frequent. They drift through the days. 

They sell the convertible after the first week, trading it in for some cash and a shitty pickup truck that smells like stale cigarettes. Kate wrinkles her nose when she gets into it for the first time and Seth rolls his eyes. 

“You tired of slumming it yet, princess?” he asks as he tries to get the truck started. It sputters for a minute before finally turning over. Seth smiles at her and Kate rolls her eyes. 

“Can we just get moving?” Kate asks, settling into the passenger seat. “It’s getting dark.” 

They don’t stay out past sunset. Neither of them is willing to take the risk. They know what hides in the shadows. They know what comes out at night.

“I know. I know,” he grumbles, forcing the truck into gear and pulling away from the little garage. 

-

She’s dreaming. 

She knows she is because she’s swimming in the pool at the Dew Drop Inn. 

But she’s not because she’s sleeping off a hangover on a threadbare motel room mattress as Seth snores in the bed next to her. There were too many pink, sweet drinks bought for her birthday. She’s twenty-one and her whole family’s dead and her entire life’s drowned in a river of blood.

She’s swimming in the pool and the sky glows blood red. She breaks the top of the water, gasping in the fresh cool air. She opens her eyes, looking up. The sun beats down on her but she doesn’t feel the heat. 

“It’s always daytime here,” Richie says from the edge of the pool. Kate turns to him and he smiles. He’s shirtless and in a swimsuit, sunglasses firmly perched on his nose, and feet dangling in the water. “Daytime even when it’s nighttime.”

“Where is here?” she asks. 

“The best vacation a girl can ask for,” he says with a smirk, leaning forward. “Who needs the Bahamas when you can have the Dew Drop Inn?” 

“You’re not burning,” she says, ignoring the memory of their first conversation. Ignoring the way her heart pounds like it did that first day. 

“Well, we’re not really here, are we?” he asks, pouting a little. He’s so at ease, so confident in a way that she never saw in real life. Slips into the pool and swims towards her, sliding his hands along her waist. She looks up at him and watches a drop of blood hit his cheek. “If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops, Katie-cakes.”

She giggles and tilts her head back, opening her mouth. She sticks her tongue out and closes her eyes. Feels the hot drops of blood hit her eyes, her outstretched tongue. She swallows down the metallic taste and looks at Richie again, feels its warmth slide down her throat. The blood sticks to her eyelashes and continues to fall from the sky.

She swipes her thumb over his cheek, gathers blood on it and brings it to his lips. 

“You have to see and then you’ll be,” he whispers before taking her thumb into his mouth. He runs his tongue along the pad and beneath the nail. The blood inside her throbs, twists and turns. Heats her from the inside out. Richie’s hand slides up her back, pulling her closer. 

“See what?” she asks. Swipes more blood into his mouth. Let’s him swipe some into hers. 

“Everything,” Seth whispers from behind her before grabbing her chin and slicing her throat. 

Kate wakes up with a startled scream. Seth shoots up as well, hand wrapped around his pistol. 

“What?” he asks, ready to fight whatever has burst into the room. 

She presses a hand to her throat as she tries to breathe. Her heart is pounding and she’s covered in sweat. Seth looks at her from his bed and drops his head with a sigh. He stumbles over to her bed and wraps an arm around her shoulders. She flinches slightly and he just pulls her in closer. 

“Come on,” he coos, pulling her to his chest. She wraps her arms around his waist, sliding her hands under his shirt and scraping his skin with her nails. “It’s okay, baby girl.”

She lets out a jagged sigh. Her chest feels tight and she can feel her eyes begin to fill with tears. She wants to claw him open and crawl inside, knows that she’d be safe there. That he’d keep her safe there. He’s the monster from her nightmares but she’s never safer than in his arms. 

He shuffles them around until they’re laying down. He strokes her hair and whispers into the crown of her head how it’ll be okay and how he’ll take care of her. They feel like pretty lies but she swallows them down greedily. She’ll take whatever niceness she can get, savoring every second of his hands on her.

She wonders if he did this for Richie when the world got to be too much for his older brother. 

He kisses her forehead as she’s drifting off. It’s a prayer in the darkness of night that she’ll make it through - that they both will. 

He’s gone from the room in the morning. 

-

She’s sitting against the headboard when he stumbles through the motel room door. He’s been gone all night and she’s been up with worry for most of it. 

They don’t do this. They don’t split up at night. 

“You still up?” he asks as he crosses the room for the bathroom. He doesn’t look at her but she looks at him. Soaks him up with her eyes. Notes his unbuttoned shirt and the blood on his knuckles, the dust on his pants.

“Where have you been?” she asks, turning down the volume on the tv. She hadn’t even been paying attention to what’s going on. It’s all in Spanish anyways, the words not quite matching the mouths. 

“Think we should be moving on in the morning,” he shouts from the bathroom, ignoring her question. “Might even be time to move away from the border.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” she says. She goes to the bathroom doorway, leaning against the frame. She crosses her arms and watches him gingerly take his shirt off. There’s a blooming bruise on his side that makes her stand up straight. “What happened?”

“Pissed off the wrong guy,” he answers, not looking at her. It’s a lie. 

“Seth,” she says, shaking her head. “You’ve been gone all night.”

“It was one night,” he replies, leaning against the sink. “It won’t happen again.”

“Where?” she asks.

“Out,” he snaps, looking at her in the mirror. “I was out and now I’m back and it’s fine. Relax.”

“I was worried,” she says, shifting slightly under his gaze. He softens slightly and turns to her. 

“It won’t happen again,” he says. She sighs and rubs at her forehead. She knows she’s not going to get any further with him on this. 

“Why do we need to get away from the border?” she asks, moving back to the bed. 

“Caught some news story that had my mugshot. Might be too hot to stick around,” he mutters as he walks out of the bathroom. “It was CNN or some shit. Might be best to get a little further away from the good old U S of A.”

“Great,” she replies, shaking her head. “What are we doing, Seth?”

“Right now? We’re going to get some sleep,” Seth says as he throws himself onto the bed next to her. He grabs the remote from her hand and turns the TV down before closing his eyes. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” she asks, knowing that he isn’t going to answer. He cracks one eye open and raises an eyebrow at her. 

Kate sighs and grabs the remote from him to change the channel. There’s a horror movie on and even though the blood looks like ketchup she’s sick of seeing it. 

-

“Keep your arm steady,” he says as he cups her other hand and puts it against the butt of the gun. “Now aim.” 

She tries to breath, tries to ignore the pounding of her heart. She can smell the cream that he uses on his hair. Can feel each breath he takes. She’s not sure how she’s supposed to focus when he’s crowding her space like this. 

“Alright. Now squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull,” he whispers against her ear before taking half a step back. 

Kate lets out a slow breath before squeezing the trigger. She misses. 

“So, you’re no Annie Oakley,” Seth says with a small chuckle. Kate drops her arms with a groan. “Come on. Try again.” 

“What’s the point?” she asks, turning to look at him. “We both know just how effective these things are against those . . . monsters.”

“I’m a bad man, Kate,” Seth starts, turning her around and raising her arm again. “And one day that’s going to catch up with me again.”

“Who’s going to come after you down here? That’s why we went deeper into Mexico. No one knows who you are,” she says, trying to relax into her stance. He’s standing too close again and she gets that feeling that he’s keeping secrets. She’s been feeling it more and more. “Right?” 

He pauses for a second too long before answering, “Right.”

She clenches her jaw and pushes away the feeling of distrust that’s been growing between them. She wants to say something but this is the best afternoon they’ve had in a while and she doesn’t want to ruin it. 

“Take your time,” he whispers against her ear and she can’t help the shiver that follows. He doesn’t comment on it but she knows he felt it. He’s so close to her, crowded into her space, there’s no way that he missed it. 

He doesn’t step away this time when she squeezes the trigger. She jerks back the tiniest bit, still not used to the kick, into the solidness of his chest. His hand lands on her hip to keep her steady and she almost misses the pinging sound of her shot barely hitting the tin can they’re using as a target. 

“Better,” he says, warm breath against her cheek. She turns her head a little to see him out of the corner of her eye. She smirks a little and he rolls his eyes. “Don’t let it go to your head. Again.”

-

Two months pass. Then three. And four. And then she stops keeping track, cause what’s the point? 

-

She’s drunk and it’s not good. It’s nothing like the Twister where it made her brave or her birthday where it made her forget. Now it’s lazy limbs and a churning stomach. 

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she says to no one in particular before she’s bolting away from the bar and into the street. She gets puke in her hair and it’s not the nastiest thing to ever end up in her hair but it’s definitely not the best either. 

She leans against the wall and closes her eyes. The world is spinning and it sucks. 

“You okay, princess?” Seth asks her, tucking her hair behind her ear. She can hear the laughter in his voice so she bats his hand away and leans against the wall. “Told you to take it easy.” 

“It’s Scott’s birthday,” she says without opening her eyes. “He would have been sixteen today.” 

“That a fact,” Seth says. Kate opens her eyes and stares at him. He shifts a little under her gaze. “So, what? You’re celebrating without him?” 

“No,” she says, rolling her eyes. “We used to do this thing. Momma and Dad. They used to cater the entire day to him on his birthday. They did the same with me but it always felt like they tried a little harder on his birthday.”

“The whole adoption thing,” Seth says with a nod. 

“Yeah,” she says. She licks her lips and slides down the wall until she’s sitting. She rests her arms on her knees and looks up at him. “They knew. Even then they knew that he felt different. Outside it all. You know?” 

“Alright, Little Miss Sunshine,” Seth says with a sigh. “Let’s get your drunk ass home.” 

Kate shorts and rolls her eyes, mumbling, “Home. You mean yet another shitty motel?” 

“Yeah. Another shitty motel,” Seth snaps, always quick to anger. He, literally, snaps his fingers at her and holds out a hand. “And that bed bug infested mattress is calling your name.” 

“You just don’t get it,” Kate says with a shake of her head. “It’s Scott’s birthday. His _birthday_. And I don’t even know if he made it out of the temple or not. He is all alone and I’m just sitting here.” 

“Well it’s not like you can go back there,” Seth says. She’s not sure if he’s trying to be comforting or not. “But you can get up and keep moving.” 

“What else have I been doing the past six months?” Kate asks. Her throat is beginning to feel tight and she knows she’s on the verge of tears. 

“Okay, princess, we’re not doing this,” Seth says, reaching down to grab her arm. He pulls her up, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her steady. “Come on. Let’s get you some water and a bed.” 

“Do you ever miss him?” she asks, knowing that she’s crossing a line. They don’t talk about Richie. Ever. She feels him tense next to her but he doesn’t let go. “Do even think about him?” 

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” he mutters as they slowly make their way down the street. She reaches her arm out to hold onto him, pulling him to her by the belt loop until they’ve stopped and he’s looking her in the eye. 

“Seth,” she says, softly. She licks her lips and tastes salt. She doesn’t know when she started to actually cry. “Please.” 

“Goddammit,” he mutters. He closes his eyes and lets out an irritated sigh. “Of course, I miss him. He’s my brother.” 

“But you walked away,” she says. She clings to his sides, sliding her pinky finger under the waistband of his jeans to feel the warmth of his skin. He’s always so warm. She wonders if it’s the Mexican heat or if it’s just him. 

“Not the only one,” he says softly. She knows that he’s talking about Richie walking away with Santanico but she can’t help but flinch. Cause she walked away too.

“How,” she starts but her voice gets caught in her throat and she has to pause. He lifts one hand slowly, gently cups her cheek. “How do I live with this? It hurts, Seth.” 

“I know, baby girl,” he murmurs. He puts his forehead to hers and she closes her eyes. He must be drunk too cause this is the longest that he’s ever touched her. “But we keep moving and maybe it’ll get better.” 

“We keep moving,” she repeats, opening her eyes. “Together.” 

He looks at her for a long minute. She can barely make out the color of his eyes in the half light of the street but it feels like he’s looking into her, sifting through all the good and bad. He glances at her mouth for a second and she licks her lips again out of habit. 

“Together,” he whispers. 

She’s not entirely sure if she believes him but she’ll take it. 

-

Her thigh is throbbing from where one of the culebras scratched her. It’s bleeding too much for her comfort but she can’t stop now. The culebras are all dead. They’re dead and Seth isn’t too far behind. 

“Get up, Seth,” she groans, yanking on his arm. He groans and his eyes flutter open for a second before closing again. “Come on.” 

“Get out of here,” he mumbles, waving her away with his other hand. His face is pale and his white shirt is steadily getting redder where the culebra stabbed him. “Go.” 

She rolls her eyes and kneels down in front of him. She grabs two fistfuls of his shirt and pulls him forward. His head rolls back and she shakes him. The pain in her thigh is getting to be unbearable but she’s not leaving him alone here. 

“We’re supposed to keep moving, remember?” she says. “Together.” 

He blinks at her again and smiles slightly, “You trying to save me, preacher’s daughter?”

“That’s right,” she says, trying to keep him talking. “Silly ol’ preacher’s daughter is trying to save your life.”

“Not worth it,” he mumbles, eyes sliding closed. “Not worth your life, Kate.”

“Shut up,” she hisses. “I am tired of hearing that from people. You. Daddy. I ain’t hearing it anymore. Now get up, Seth.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. His words slur together when he says, “Comparing me to the preacher. That’s a tall order.”

“You’re no preacher but you’re all I got,” Kate says. She grabs his chin and makes him look at her. “You do not get to quit on me. Now get up.”

She pulls on him again and nearly cries with relief when he pushes himself off the ground. He groans and struggles to stand, putting most of his weight on her. She wraps his arm around her shoulders and wraps her arm around his waist. 

The walk to the Jeep seems to take forever but they make it. Thank god, in all his glory, they make it. 

Kate manages to get Seth in the passenger’s seat before limping over to the driver’s side. She licks her lips and clenches the steering wheel tight. Seth is panting next to her, eyes fluttering closed. 

“Seth!” she practically screams. He jerks a little and smiles at her. She tries to smile back and nods before trying to get the truck to turn over. 

She turns the key and practically screams with rage when the engine sputters. She tries again and again and again. When it fails to start on the fourth turn, Kate slaps the steering wheel and lets out a loud sob. 

“Hey now,” Seth says from the seat. He coughs, pushing himself up in the seat. “Hey.” 

“It’s fine,” she says, shaking her head. She takes a second to breath. It’s fine. She can do this. “I’m fine.” 

She turns the key and sighs in relief when the engine turns over. She smiles at Seth and shifts into drive. 

The ride to the nearest hospital is nothing. She blinks and they’re there. She helps Seth out of the Jeep, screaming for help. 

-

They’re in the hospital for two days before Seth drags himself from bed and checks the both of them out. Kate’s thigh had needed twenty stitches, Seth’s side thirty. They’re bruised and bleeding but they’re alive. 

-

She’s dreaming again. 

Having a nightmare. 

She’s in the Titty Twister again. The stage is lit up for a show but the tables are empty. The speakers are silent. The altar from the sacrificial chamber is center stage. The eye painted gold and red, shining in the firelight. 

Richie is there, both arms out, welcoming her inside. His eyes glow in the darkness, yellow like a snake. They track her as she moves among the tables. 

There’s a growing pressure on her skin. Like the building itself is trying to wrap itself around her. It's the same feeling as when Santantico walked onto the stage for the first time. The same feeling that ripped Richie away from them all. It’s the same power that throbs through her, sinks into her skin. 

It wants to drink her in. 

“Up. It wants to drink you up,” Seth’s voice echoes through the room but it’s not his words. They’re Richie’s words coming from his brother’s mouth. It sends a shiver down her spine. 

The room shifts. 

She’s tied to the altar. Sex Machine standing over her. But it’s not him. Not Sex Machine. It’s her dad and she’s crying. Begging him to let her go. He smiles down at her and presses a hand to her forehead. 

“Save my little girl,” he whispers, tears streaming down his face. “Save her the way I couldn’t save Jennifer. The way I couldn’t save Scott.”

“Dad! Daddy please!” she’s begging, throat choking up with tears that she can’t shed. Fear that she can’t swallow down. “Daddy listen to me!”

“I’m sorry baby girl,” he whispers, raising his hand with the black dagger from the club. She squeezes her eyes shut, bracing herself for the sharp point of the dagger. 

“Didn’t your daddy tell you to never do this?” Richie asks, voice flat and hoarse. 

Richie hovers over her, reaches out a hand and wipes away her tears. He floats over her. Like some bad Buffy-movie-vampire. Through her nightmare-induced-fear, she thinks that Richie would appreciate that reference. 

He’s wearing the bloody suit from the bar. Hole ripped through the middle where Ranger Gonzalez shot him. He’s dripping blood onto her stomach. It’s seeping through the thin cotton of her tank, heavy and hot on her skin. Behind his thick glasses, his eyes glow the brightest blue she’s ever seen.

She wants him to reach out and run his hands over her. Wants him to dig his fingers into her hair, tilt her head back. Wants him to run his mouth over her throat. Wants him. It settles in her stomach, sinks down to the core of her. 

“Set me free,” she whispers. “Set me free, Richie.”

He smiles and tilts his head, whispers against her lips, “You have to see and then you’ll be.”

Seth wraps a hand around her chin and slices her throat. 

-

She winces slightly as she washes the still pink wound. The stitches are gone and the scar they’ve left behind is still tender. Seth watches her from the other side of the room, corners of his mouth pulled down in a frown. 

“How’s your side?” she asks to fill the silence. She hasn’t asked about that night. She knows that she should. 

“Kate,” he starts, voice soft. She looks up at him and sees the guilt written all over his face. Her mouth tightens. “About that night.” 

“You should have told me what you were doing,” she says softly. “I could have been helping all along.” 

“I didn’t want to put you in danger,” he says, jaw clenching. “I’ve done enough of that, alright?” 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. For a second, she feels like some little kid throwing a tantrum. “You could have died. If I hadn’t followed you that night, you could have died.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s my risk to take!” he says. And there’s that quick-as-lightning anger. 

“Your risk?” she asks. She laughs, bitter and disbelieving. “And what about me, Seth? What would have happened to me?” 

“You would have been fine,” he says, waving his hand. It’s almost cruel in how dismissive it is. “Better off without me, anyways.” 

“You don’t get to make that call!” she yells, tears pooling in her eyes until he’s just a blurry smudge. “You don’t get to just decide that, Seth.” 

“Oh what? Your life has been daisies and roses since we’ve met?” he snaps back. 

“You’re all I have left!” she yells back. She wipes at her face angrily and turns away from him. Like hell she’s going to shed tears over this. Over him. “You are all I have left.” 

“Well I didn’t ask to be!” he shouts, throwing his arms out and wincing immediately. He still has stitches. “Goddammit.” 

He presses a hand to his side and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He rests against the dresser and shakes his head. She watches him gather his cool, watches him adopt that mask of calm that drives her crazy. She balls her hands into fists and looks down at the floor. 

“I told you,” he starts. “When you first signed up with me. I can’t take care of anybody.”

“I didn’t ask you to take care of me,” she snaps. 

“Let me finish,” he says, holding a hand up to her. He flinches again, handing twitching against his side. “But I guess it’s in my nature. Because this is me taking care of you. Keeping you out of this shit.”

She hates that her heart swells at those words, that whatever anger she’d been feeling becomes a dull throb.

“You better not have popped a stitch,” she mumbles before crossing the room to him. She gently touches his side, feeling him tense beneath her fingers. He straightens up as she pushes his shirt out of the way. The stitches look fine. They’re a bit red but intact. “I could have been helping you, Seth. I fought my way out, too. I survived. Just like you.” 

“You shouldn’t have to be fighting these things,” he says, staring forward. His eyes flick down to her mouth for a second. “What I’m doing. It’s . . . it’s for me, okay? You don’t have to get involved.” 

“You’re looking for him, aren’t you?” she asks. His shoulders sag a little and she knows that she’s right. “I want in.” 

“No,” he says instantly, looking down at her. “No way.” 

“You can’t do it on your own and I have a right to it,” she says. 

“Why? Huh? What’s so special about you?” he snaps. He grips her shoulders and holds her away from him. “Richie never connected with people. Not like he did with you. So what is it about you?” 

“What?” she asks, raises her eyebrows in shock. “What are you talking about?”

“We’ve been surrounded by Mexican hocus pocus since the beginning. You included,” he says. He licks his lips and pulls her closer to him. “Richie was drawn to you. His head was being fucked with by the vampire queen herself and he was still drawn to you. Sex Machine wanted to sacrifice you. So, what is it about you?” 

“Seth, you’re talking crazy,” she says with a slight laugh. His grip on her arms is like iron and she’s barely a breath away from him. She reaches up and grips his forearms, digs her nails in. “Whatever Santanico and Sex Machine were up to. I had nothing to do with it. Nothing.”

His hold on her relaxes and the suspicion drains away from his face. He’s still mad but he’s lost the mania from a second ago. 

“Then what is it, princess? You play tonsil hockey with my brother and now you have a right to find him?” he asks. 

It’s a cruel thing to say. She bares her teeth at him and knocks his hands away from her. 

“You are not the only one with a culebra for a brother,” she hisses. “Scott could be with him.” 

“Oh what? Now you forgive him? You want to find your daddy-biting brother?” he asks with a smirk. “That it, sweetheart?”

“Fuck you, Seth,” she says. She steps into his space. “You act like you’re all alone in this. But you’re not. I am right here.”

“Yeah and I’m starting to think that’s the problem,” he says, voice dropping low. She blinks at him and steps back. He hasn’t suggested they split up in months. Not since they left the border. 

“What?” 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he shouts, enunciating each word. “You should be off living your life! Not hunting fucking Mexican Dracula!”

“But I am here, Seth!” she shouts back. “I’m here and this is my life now! I choose this! _You_! I choose you!” 

He’s across the room in a second, mouth pressed against hers. She flounders, thrown off balance by the force of him. He wraps a hand around her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair. She cups his jaw, buries her fingers in his beard. She runs a hand up his torso, dragging her nails along his skin. 

“Kate,” he pulls back to whisper against her lips. 

She doesn’t let him finish, leaning forward to kiss him again. She doesn’t know how many times she’s imagined this, imagined what it would feel like to hold him close, to taste his mouth. How many times she’s shushed the fantasies that wriggle across her mind when he steps out of the bathroom in only a towel.

She wants to say that the real thing is better than her dreams but that’d be a lie and she’s done lying to herself. His breath is stale and his lips are chapped, hands rough against her skin and tangled into her hair. It hurts, almost, kissing him like this. But it’s the good kind of hurt, like pulling off a scab of a half-healed wound. 

“Let me help you,” she whispers, pulling back from him. “Don’t shut me out. Please.”

“Fine,” he says. He tightens his hold on her neck. Pulls her in close, mouth brushing against her own again. She leans forward, craving his touch just a little more than she had a moment before. She wonders if he’d be agreeing with her if he hadn’t kissed her, if she hadn’t kissed him back. It feels like cheating almost, getting him to keep her at his side like this. But she can’t be alone, was never one to handle being left on her own very well, so she’ll take whatever he’s willing to give her. “We do this together.”

“Together,” she repeats.

-

She taps the steering wheel in time with the scratchy song on the radio, gnawing at her lip. Seth’s been in there too long. It feels like he’s been in there too long.

She peeks over the pink Lolita glasses that she bought last week as a joke. The entrance to the small store is still closed. No one has come out running. There are no sirens in the distance. Logically, she knows things are moving smoothly. But she’s still anxious. Still wants him to come out the door, cocky smirk on his face. 

It’s the last hit. The last stop before they start looking for Richie together. This city is running out of corners to hide in and it’s time to get moving. 

She’s getting ready to get out of the car, hand going to the small knife she carries when he comes out at a quick pace. He smiles at her, crooked and sure of himself. She smiles back, feels her chest start to relax. 

Starting the car as he climbs into the passenger’s seat, she tries to play it cool as she asks, “All good?”

“Easy as pie,” he says, patting his jacket pocket. He leans back in the seat, propping a foot up on the dash and waving towards the road “Drive away.”

She pulls away from the street and hits the gas. 

-

He’s gone in the morning. 

_This isn’t your fight. I’m sorry._

He doesn’t even sign it. 

He leaves his pistol, more than half of the total score, and his suit jacket that somehow made it this far, the keys to the jeep in its pocket. She burns the note in a trashcan by the pool, using it to light a cigarette. She’s learning to inhale. 

She keeps the jacket. Keeps the cash. Sells the jeep and buys a smaller car. Leaves town before the week is over. 

She keeps moving. Keeps hoping that it’ll get better.

-

The road is long and lonely. The days bleed into each other, day turning to night in an endless cycle that she can’t outdrive. 

Whatever healing she’d done with Seth feels like it’s unraveling. It feels like being cracked in two. Feels like having the marrow sucked from her bones. She’s a hollow, haunted thing but she keeps moving. She’s not sure what else there is to do at this point. 

-

She makes it to the coast when her car dies. The mechanic, Rafa, says they need to order a part and there’s no telling how long it’ll take to get there. She doesn’t have enough cash left to buy something else and no one she speaks to is willing to buy a broken down hatchback.

She gets a job washing dishes at a small, family-owned restaurant. The old woman who owns it reminds Kate of her grandmother with her gummy smiles and soft hands. She doesn’t make much money - just enough for the motel room and greasy take out food. She tries to save money, tries to plan leaving, but she doesn’t seem capable of it. 

She’s putting down roots for the first time since leaving Bethel and it doesn’t feel wrong. 

The cook treats her like a little sister, pressing bags of leftover food into her hands. He’s convinced that she doesn’t eat enough and without him she’d starve. The waitresses are the owner’s daughters. They have the same soft hands as their mother, the beginnings of the same gummy smile. Kate helps them with their English and they help her with her Spanish. 

Rafa eats there occasionally, laughing with the sisters and taking extras home for his father. Kate always peeks her head out to ask about her car but can’t seem to feel disappointed when he consistently tells her not yet. 

His smile is sweet and it makes her blush. She starts to wonder if he actually enjoys the food that much or if he’s there to see her when he starts eating in the kitchen as she washes dishes. He teases her about her faith and calls her Katerina regardless of how many times she asks him to call her Kate. She stops asking about her car. Stops thinking about leaving in general. Feels something inside start to mend. 

Her life is quiet and lonely at night but she doesn't mind. The wind is warm by the coast without the dryness of the desert. She can smell the ocean on the air, the salty-sweet smell making her think of summer vacations to the gulf. 

She tries to spend as much time as she can by the water, swimming out as far as she can before she has to turn back. She lets her mind wander away from everything - from the restaurant gossip, from the nagging question of where Scott is, from Seth and Richie and everything culebra, from the gnawing guilt that she still has for surviving. 

When she finally leaves the warm, blue water she feels reborn. Wonders what her daddy would think of her baptisms because what else can she call them? She cleanses herself in the water and is born again, day after day after day. 

She wonders if there will ever be a day when she won’t need to wash away the sins of the past eight months. If she’ll ever get to be just Kate Fuller again - no mystical destiny, no Mexican dracula hiding in the shadows, no undead brothers haunting her dreams. She never lingers on that question for more than a minute.

-

She loses her virginity to Rafa. She doesn’t love him and she knows that. But he’s sweet and his lips are always so soft and she wants him. It's enough one night when he walks her back to the motel after work. 

She tries not to think about purity and sacrifices but it’s there at the back of her head anyways. She’s not using him. She’s _not_. But two birds, one stone, right? 

The thought is more cynical, more _Gecko_ , than she’s willing to admit. 

She’s not sure when she became this person. 

It’s slow and tender. His hands shake when they unbutton her jeans. She shivers when he wraps his mouth around her nipple. It seems to take forever and last only minutes at the same time. She doesn’t come. At least she doesn’t think she does. She’s tingling all over, a warmth growing in her stomach but it never reaches that skyrocketing moment that she read about in those trashy romance novels she bought with her allowance back in Bethel. 

After, while Rafa sleeps in her bed and with the rain pattering against the window, she stares at herself in the mirror in the bathroom. She can’t see any difference in her face. There are circles under her eyes but her cheeks are flushed. She’s tanner than she was back home. Her face has thinned out but she still looks younger than she is. 

Maybe the change is in her soul where only gods and demons can see. Maybe there’s no change at all and even if she lets people call her by a name that’s not her own and has sex with boys she’s not in love with, she’s still Katie-cakes under it all.

She crawls back into bed, pressing herself against Rafa’s back. He turns over to wrap an arm around her waist. She rests her head on his chest and listens to the steady beating of his heart, letting it carry her back to sleep. 

-

Sometimes, when she’s alone and drunk and remembering, she _sees_. She thinks this is what Richie was talking about in the back of the RV. What he means in her dreams when he tells her to see just to be. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to be but it doesn’t matter. She can see when she looks and she’s looking now. 

The wound Richie described, where he could see the hurt leaking out, is scabbed over. She knows that Dad and Momma and Scott are all there, hiding behind the marred flesh. She can feel them writhing inside her, twisting her memories into knots that she can’t undo. 

On nights when the memories are too much, she can’t help but pick. She tears the wound open and stares at the pink, wet mass of her insides. She stands in front of the mirror and digs her hands in, stares at the blood that covers her fingertips. Paints it across her face and bares her teeth at her reflection like some rabid dog. 

She doesn’t know if it’ll ever heal completely. If she’ll ever stop picking. If she’ll ever want to. Because if it were totally gone, just an ugly scar, an ugly reminder then what would that say about her? 

Her dreams feel like prophecy and she can see into people’s souls. There’s a throbbing inside her, whispering that she’s meant for more. She dreams of altars and blood. Dreams of swallowing golden snakes full of white light. Dreams of brothers bathed in holy light and rivers of puss and scorpions. Dreams of gods that she doesn’t pray to laughing in her face. 

When she wakes up in the morning, head throbbing and stomach rolling with the beginnings of her hangover, it all seems like a dream. She doesn’t see the blood caked under her nails. Ignores the ache in her gut. Smiles at Rafa and hides the circles under her eyes with a drugstore concealer.

-

They’re lounging in her bed, legs tangled together and smelling of sex. Rafa is looking through her sketchbook, hair mussed from her fingers. Kate smiles, lazy and slow. It spreads across her face like molasses dripping from the spoon. She dances her fingers up his side, giggling softly when he flinches a little. 

“Are you ticklish?” she asks, voice low and scratchy. She needs water but her legs are still jello so she stays in bed. “Rafa?” 

He’s staring at one of her drawings, eyebrows drawn down into a frown. She rolls over, half laying on top of him, to see which one he’s looking at. It’s Santanico.

Kate knows it’s not the best drawing. That she didn’t get the slope of Santanico’s full mouth right. Barely captured the haunted, pleading look in her eye. In Kate’s memory, Santanico is staring at Richie, telling him that she needs him - that they need each other. Seconds later, Ranger Gonzalez put a bullet through Richie’s gut. 

She guesses in the long run, Santanico must have convinced him she was right. He chose her in the end. 

“I’ve seen her before,” Rafa says slowly. Kate raises her eyebrows. “She’s a saint. My mother used to pray to her.”

“A saint?” she asks. She can’t hide the skepticism in her voice. “Santanico Pandemonium is no saint.” 

“Santanico what?” Rafa says with a laugh, squinting his eyes at her. “Saint Kisa. Protector of the enslaved and seeker of vengeance. Mama went to her whenever she was mad at someone.” 

“I’m telling you, that woman,” she says, jabbing a finger at the drawing. “Is no saint.” 

“I think I know saints a little better than some Southern Baptist,” Rafa replies, leaning up to kiss her. She’s distracted for a second before she pushes him away. 

“I’m serious,” Kate says, feeling her throat grow tight with secrets. 

“So am I,” Rafa replies before sitting up. “My mother was very serious about her saints - even the ones that the church didn’t canonize. She made me go with her to the shrine sometimes. It’s in the back of a bakery on the other side of town. Father Ramon won’t let the worshipers set up something in the church so someone made their own altar.” 

She stares at him for a second, feels her two lives colliding. She knows she should laugh this off. That part of her life is over. She’s created something worthwhile here with Rafa. She knows that she should protect it for as long as she can. 

“Show me?” 

-

The room is small, just a lean-to added onto the back of the bakery. But it’s warm and something about it reminds her of church in Bethel, reminds her of home. She feels like she belongs in this tiny space, like she was meant to find this place. 

The air is thick with incense and unanswered prayers. It makes it hard to breathe - hard to think. She feels like she’s walking through one of her dreams, like she’s back at the Twister. She half expects Richie to be there, half expects Seth to reach forward for her throat. 

A statue of Santanico is at the front of the room. She’s a strange mix of ancient garb and Catholic imagery. Mother Mary blue dress and a feather headdress, the two headed snake wrapped around her shoulders. She has her fangs out and she’s crying tears of blood, arms outstretched in front of her. There are small offerings and candles strewn about her feet left behind by her worshipers.

“She was a goddess before the missionaries,” Rafa whispered softly into her ear. “A young girl who betrayed the gods and was turned into a demon.”

“You said she was a goddess,” Kate whispers back. An old woman pushes past them, her shawl brushing against Kate’s arm. She feels a shock, sees a flash of a young pregnant girl and the boy who won’t marry her. The old woman looks back at Kate for a second before adding another candle to the altar. 

“Well, that’s the best part of the story,” Rafa says and Kate can hear the smile in his voice. This is fun for him and it feels like dying for her. He touches her side, slides his fingers along the waistband of her shorts. 

Her side tingles and she sees his mother, kneeling in front of the altar and lighting a candle. She can see Rafa in the curve of her cheek and the length of her fingers. She turns towards Kate, brown eyes seeing Kate through the years. “Protect my son, diosa. Please. He’s a good boy. A sweet boy.”

Kate shakes her head, opens her mouth to deny it. She’s not diosa. She’s just Kate. But the vision vanishes and she’s in the present again, Rafa’s soft voice in her ear, “She breaks free of the temple that she’s been trapped in. Travels to the underground and destroys her masters. She becomes a goddess and she’s worshipped for it.”

Kate shakes her head. None of that is right. Santanico doesn’t protect. She takes and steals and destroys. She turns her back to the statue, eyes closed. She can’t look at it anymore, can’t see the woman who destroyed everything dressed like a saint. 

“Kate?”

“It’s all wrong,” Kate whispers. Rafa touches her cheek, tucks her hair behind her ear. She opens her eyes and looks at him. “All of this is wrong.”

“Wrong?” Rafa says with a laugh. “It’s just a local legend. Nothing right or wrong about it. A story for old ladies and little kids.”

“You don’t,” she starts, cutting herself off. Forces the words out of her mouth. “You don’t understand.” 

“Don’t understand what?” he asks and there’s an edge to his voice that she’s never heard before. “Nothing bad is happening here, Katerina. It’s just prayer.”

“It’s not!” she practically yells. 

A few heads turn to stare at them, someone shushes them, but all Kate hears is the pounding of her heart. Her hands are shaking and it feels like she can’t breathe. She stumbles towards the door, tripping over her own feet and falling in a heap. 

“Are you alright?” Rafa asks as he helps her to her feet. Her knees are scraped and bleeding but otherwise she’s fine. 

“I’m fine,” she mutters, noticing the way a couple of people have frozen. She sees eyes gleam in the candle light, the ripple of skin and scale, the slight swish of fangs. Kate looks down at her knees and curses herself. “We should go.”

Rafa tilts his head and opens his mouth to say something but he’s cut off. A small woman steps between them, eyes glowing in the candlelight. She reaches a hand out to Kate, whispers diosa under her breath. Kate stumbles back into a solid chest. Large hands grip her upper arms and he leans down to whisper, “We smell her in you.”

“Santanico,” Kate whispers barely flinching back. Rafa is staring at her with wide eyes. He looks at the man holding Kate and clenches his jaw. “Rafa, don’t.”

He doesn’t listen. He rushes forward, shoving the small woman out of the way. The man behind Kate shoves her to the side and reaches out for Rafa, grabbing him by the neck. Kate reaches into her purse, fingers wrapping around the handle of her knife. The culebra is bigger than her and she knows there’s no way that she’s going to be able to get her knife deep enough to get his heart. Not from the back. 

“Hey!” she shouts, bracing herself for the culebra to turn around. The second he’s facing her, Rafa nothing more than a forgotten heap on the ground, Kate throws all of her weight into stabbing him in the heart. The culebra looks at her before glancing at the knife sticking out of his chest. Not deep enough. 

“Your blood,” he says as he pulls the knife free and drops it on the ground. “I can smell its power. It’s purity.”

Kate walks backwards until she hits the wall and there isn’t anywhere else to go. The culebra advances on her, steady steps creating puffs of dirt around his shoes. He’s not the only one but the others stand back with wide snake-like eyes. They stare at her like she’s something special - like they stare at Santanico’s statue. Kate is too sick with fear to think about it too hard. 

“I remember when this was all jungle,” the culebra says, waving a hand towards the door. “I remember what we were before. I remember what _she_ was before. What she can be again once I’ve brought you to her.”

“She’s a monster,” Kate hisses through clenched teeth. She looks around at the culebra in the room, sneering. “You’re all monsters.”

The large culebra throws his head back and laughs, fangs shining in the candlelight. Kate licks her lips, swallows the lump in her throat. He hisses at her and lunges forward when Rafa smashes a wooden chair over his head. 

Kate doesn’t pause before lunging for one of the broken chair legs. She screeches like a damn banshee as she rams the leg into the culebra’s chest. He erupts in a burst of flames leaving behind nothing but dust. 

“Kate?” Rafa asks, chest heaving. 

Kate glances around the room. None of the other culebras have moved. The few humans that had been there are gone. She grabs her knife holding it in front of her. “Rafa, let’s go.”

“Diosa,” one of the culebras says, stepping forward with thin veiny hands outstretched. She looks like she hasn’t fed in months, skin stretched over her face. Her eyes flick to the blood still coming from Kate’s knee. “Please.” 

“I’m not,” Kate says through clenched teeth. She shakes her head and turns to Rafa again. He’s staring down at the staked culebra with wide eyes. “Rafa!” 

He snaps out of it and rushes past her into the bakery. Kate stares at the culebras for a second, waits for one of them to say something else, before rushing after him. 

-

She dreams of the altar that night. 

The room is thick with incense and barely lit by tall candles. The dirt floor is warm under her bare feet. She thinks she’s alone, can’t see anything through the mist. She walks forward with confidence as if she’s walked this path a hundred times before. The altar rises up in front of her, Santanico’s statue holding its arms out to Kate. 

“She’s calling you, Kate,” a voice whispers against her neck. Richie’s hands slide around her waist, pull her back against him. “Her arms are reaching for you.”

“It’s a statue and this is a dream,” she replies softly, whispering like she’s in church. She slides her hands over Richie’s, tugs on his hands until his grip on her is bruising. She sighs and leans her head back, exposing her neck. “Your arms are the only ones I want right now.”

“Indulging, are we?” he asks with a small snort. He leans down and nips at her throat. “I can smell your blood through your skin.”

“Even here you’re a snake, aren’t you?” she asks, gasps a little when he drags his blunt teeth across her skin. 

“Can’t pretend to be something you’re not in dreams,” he whispers in her ear. He slides his hands down, grabbing onto her hips. 

“You can be whatever you want in dreams,” Kate says. Her eyes open and she stares at Santanico’s statue.

“Not in your dreams, Katie-cakes,” he says, walking her forward. “Not in the dreams of a prophet. Those are nothing but truth.”

“I’m no prophet,” Kates says, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. It's getting hard to breathe, the incense cloying and thick the closer they get to the statue.

“You have no idea what you are,” he says softly. His fingers slip under her shirt, sliding along the waistband of her sleep shorts. His hands are cold against her hot skin. She stops in front of the altar. All of the trinkets that were there during the day are gone. It’s just candles and dried blood. Snakes slither over her feet, wrapping themselves around her ankles. She turns to look him in the eye. His eyes are glowing in the gloomy smoke of the room. “You have to be and then you’ll see.”

“Be what?”

“What you were meant to be. What you’ve always been, Katie-cakes,” Richie says softly. He takes her hand, raising it to his mouth. She watches him kiss her palm, watches him slide a fang along her life line so that she’s bleeding. “Do you want to see, Kate?”

“See like you?” she asks, voice soft and thin. The room thrums with power, shaking beneath her feet. The snakes are slithering up her legs, wrapping around her calves and her thighs. She feels them sliding up her torso, wrapping around her waist, brushing against the curve of her breast. She knows where they’re heading, knows what it is they want. 

“To see like you,” Richie says and it makes no sense because she’s just a preacher’s daughter. She doesn’t see any better or worse than anyone else. “You have to want it though. It doesn’t work if you don’t want it.”

“Did you want it?” 

“More than anything,” he whispers and she knows that it's a lie. She can feel it in her chest, feel it wrapping itself around her. He turns her palm around, slowly pushes it towards the statue. “Do you want it, Katie-cakes?”

“Yes,” she whispers just as her bleeding hand presses to the statue. She leaves a small red smear on the baby blue of her dress. The snake slithers up her throat, cold scales making her shiver. Richie kisses the spot where her shoulder and neck meet, fangs sliding in easily. Her mouth falls open in a gasp and the snake takes the moment to slither into her mouth. 

-

In the morning, there’s blood on her hand and dirt on her feet. 

The altar is gone from the back room of the bakery. The room is empty, no sign of the altar that once stood there. 

Rafa stops coming by the restaurant. One of the other mechanics tells her that her car is fixed and ready to be picked up. 

It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it should. At the end of the day, she doesn’t feel much of anything about it. 

She packs up the hatchback and leaves town. She doesn’t think of the life she’s leaving behind. The only thing on her mind is to keep moving. She’s learning it’s what she does best. 

-

She drives and she searches. Finding the altars is easy - too easy, if she’s being honest. It’s like she’s pulled to them. Her feet carrying her forward through streets she’s never walked before like she’s lived there her whole life. They’re in almost every town, small and hidden in the back of shops or abandoned homes. 

There are almost always culebra. More often than not, they’re weak and thin and half-starved, begging for salvation. She pities those culebra - mothers and brothers and sisters and fathers who didn’t ask to be turned, who don’t want the violence and death it brings. 

Sometimes they see her and whisper diosa under their breath. Fall to their knees and beg her for deliverance, beg her to release them from this hell. It always reminds her of dark, damp tunnels and hearing her daddy’s sad laugh one last time. She finds the same strength that carried her through that night and gives them the release they want, praying over their ashes. She can’t remember the last time she prayed, actually prayed, but the words come easy to the tongue of a preacher’s daughter. 

She doesn’t find anything like the Twister again but there are bars full of culebra - strong and sure of their place in the world as predators. All of them dying for a bite of her. She always manages to fight her way out, tries to make sure that the place is torched before she’s running for her car. She knows that it’s a miracle that she’s made it this far, that she hasn’t had a chunk bitten out of her. It doesn’t stop her from finding new nests, doesn’t stop her from hunting.

She knows she’s not making a dent in the blood-drinking population of Mexico but it still feels good to know that she’s doing her part. 

She doesn’t find Scott. Doesn’t find Seth or Richie or any hint that Santanico Pandemonium is even in Mexico anymore. Doesn’t matter though. The road is always calling her - the pull that they’re out there somewhere yanking on her from the inside out.

She doesn’t settle down anymore. Doesn’t build anything that could possibly be torn down. 

-

She dreams of Richie. Memories and dreams melding into something that almost feels real. He creeps in and whispers in her ear. His hands always touching her, his lips always on her skin. He smears her blood onto the statue of Santanico that appears. Promises to find her soon. 

More often than not, she wakes up panting and drenched in sweat, an almost painful throbbing between her thighs before her fingers sneak beneath the band of her underwear. 

-

There are culebra at this altar. Followers of Santanico - Saint Kisa - there to spread the word of their goddess. She was forming an army - all who wanted to fight could join her. They would turn anyone who wanted to be eternally by Diosa’s side, feed and care for the weak culebra among them. 

Kate stands at the back, hands curling into fists. She lets them give their pitch, watches the humans scurry from the space. Watches as the culebras, weak with hunger, fall to their knees pledging loyalty to Diosa. She grips her knife a little tighter, presses her back against the wall and feels the warm metal of her pistol. 

The last human runs out, crossing herself, and Kate presses her thumbnail into her palm until it bleeds. Not a lot but just enough to get the scent in the air, just enough for the culebras’ attention to snap to her. 

It’s a bloodbath after that. She stabs and slashes, kicks and punches like she never has before. It’s reckless and stupid but she doesn’t care. Not when Santanico _fucking_ Pandemonium is recruiting. The words hiss across her mind, slithering through the cracks and sounding so much like Richie, _Fuck that._

When she’s done. When they’re all dead save one, the one making Santanico’s promises for her, Kate sits down with a sigh. She wipes at the blood and the dust on her face, wincing when she rubs against a scratch on her cheek that burns like hell. 

“You’re a sight, that’s for sure,” the culebra says, wincing slightly. His stomach is cut open, intestines being held in by a bloody hand. It’s bad enough that he’ll be down for the count for a while. “He did say that you were a survivor. That you wouldn’t be taken easily.” 

“He?” she asks. There is an unopened bottle of tequila on the floor. How it survived all this chaos is beyond Kate but she’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She pours herself a drink into a half broken glass. There’s enough of a rim that she doesn’t cut her mouth when she sips, doesn’t stop the taste of blood from ruining the flavor of the tequila. She’s not sure if it’s her blood or the blood of the culebra that she’s slain that night.

“Richard,” the culebra says with a smirk. “A hero twin reborn. He will guide us through Xibalba and free us all.”

“So your mistress says,” Kate says with a shrug. She finishes her tequila and pours another. “Don’t think you’ll be joining them, though.”

“So be it,” the culebra says, shrugging and groaning in pain right after. “I have done my part.”

“Considering your little recruitment mission didn’t exactly go well, I seriously doubt that,” Kate replies. 

“We found you, didn’t we?” he asks, smiling around a mouthful of fangs. Kate sneers and wipes at her mouth.

“I just want to know one thing,” Kate says, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. She holds her glass with both hands and looks down at the sloshing liquid. “One thing and I’ll end your suffering.”

The culebra tsks at her, shaking his head. “That doesn’t sound like a very tempting offer, Katerina.”

“It’s Kate,” she snaps automatically, a feeling of dread creeping up her spine. 

“Not always, Katerina,” the culebra says with a wet laugh. “Who else was it that called you that? The name,” he coughs out a large mass of black, congealed blood, “escapes me.”

“Rafa,” she whispers. 

“Yes, Rafa,” he says with a sigh, easing back a little and closing his eyes. “Yes, Rafa. And Senora Gutierrez. Her daughters - Rosa and Josephina. Then there was the town with the fountain. You didn’t know their names but we learned them. Jose owned the motel. Carina owned the house with the altar. There were other towns, weren’t there, Katerina? Other names you never bothered to learn. Death follows you.”

“Shut. Up,” Kate hisses. She stands up and towers over the culebra. He smiles at her, eyes shining yellow in the candle light. She pulls her gun out and points it at it’s head, eyes filling with tears as her heart cracks down the middle. Breaking in a way she thought it couldn’t break anymore. “You shut your snake mouth.”

“But why, Katerina? We are in a place of a goddess,” he whispers, tilting his head forward. “We should only speak in truths. Death is a part of life. There is no shame in it.” 

“I said,” she hisses, releasing the safety on her gun. Her heart is pounding and she’s furious, beyond furious. “Shut your fucking mouth.” 

“You have her rage and her power,” the culebra whispers, soft and sweet like a lover. “Shrouded in blood and death. You have done so much damage but the light. You are blinding, Katerina.”

She squeezes the trigger, blood splattering her face before he bursts into flame and ash. She licks her lips, the metallic taste of his blood filling her mouth. Her eyes widened and she isn’t in the altar anymore. Not this altar. Not one covered in blood and ash and guts. 

Instead, she’s in a warehouse. The lights dim, the air thick with the smell of blood. The room is teeming with culebra. They talk amongst themselves, the noise deafening. Drums pound in the distance and fire blares in one end of the room. 

Santanico appears on stage. Gone is the mistress-of-the-night getup. Instead, she’s dressed simply, white dress and loose hair. Face bare of makeup and wrists covered in gold bangles, she looks like a goddess. A benevolent goddess worthy of worship. 

The scene shifts and Richard is there, giving instructions. His hair is loose and he’s wearing a suit. He doesn’t have his glasses and he talks with a certainty that suits him. He tells them Kate isn’t to be harmed. That’s she’s needed for something bigger - something better. 

It feels like being lost in the labyrinth, feels like seeing secrets that she was never meant to know. It feels like _seeing_ and it makes her head spin. She turns on her heel and runs from the visions and the altar. 

The air outside the building is cold and sweet. She pants, staring up at the night sky, before curling over and puking. 

-

She dreams of her prom night with Kyle, of the way the music had swelled around them as they danced. His hands are heavy on her waist, arms holding her at a distance but eyes warm with a love that she can barely remember returning. Richie is there, lurking in the shadows, watching them, covered in blood and hand wrapped in duct tape. Kyle is saying something sweet, something she half-remembers but her eyes are on Richie, can’t be pulled away from his piercing gaze.

He holds his whole hand out to her, mouth quirking up in the half-amused smirk she remembers from their poolside conversation. She doesn’t even think before sliding across the Titty Twister and melting into his arms. His hands bunch in the yellow tulle of her dress, a gauzy thing that had reminded her so much of _Grease_ when she saw it in the second-hand shop. 

He pulls her in close, presses their bodies together in a way that she’s never done in real life. His mouth brushes against her ear as he whispers, “I’m not the only one who’s following anymore.”

“I know. I saw it on a drop of blood,” she mumbles, leaning forward to rest her cheek against his shoulder. 

Her head’s fuzzy and it doesn’t even feel like her feet are touching the ground. It’s a romantic moment, a sweet moment that she’d always wished that she had with Kyle. Of course Richie would steal that from her too. Greedy hands reaching out across the miles and wrapping themselves around her at all times. 

“You learning to see?” Richie asks before he spins her out and back again. He dips her, presses a kiss to her exposed collarbone. 

“Why are they following me? Why did you send them after me?” she whispers as he pulls her back up. She presses her cheek to his chest, breathes in the smell of dust and blood that clings to his suit. 

“Can’t stay away,” he says and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Always going to be chasing after my best girl.”

“Your best girl,” she repeats with a bitter laugh. She looks up at Richie as the room fills with blood red light and the main floor of the Twister fills with half familiar faces. They watch as he spins her out again, eyes empty and faces blank. A silent audience. “We’re in the place of a god - we should only speak in truths.”

“I always speak in truths,” Richie replies, sounding offended. He twirls her, frowning at her. She laughs again and presses her face to his chest. 

“Half-truths maybe,” she whispers through her giggles. He slides his hand down her side, presses against her lower back until she’s pressed against him from chest to thigh. She bites her bottom lip, resists the urge to rub against him. “How are you doing this?” 

“Doing what?” he asks with a smirk. The lights glint off his glasses and his eyes shine yellow. “Dancing with you?”

“Sneaking into my dreams,” she says. He wraps an arm around her waist, presses a hand against her chest so she tilts back. She snaps back up, standing on her toes so that she can look in his eyes, his snake eyes not the ice blue that haunts her. 

“So, you’re starting to get it,” he whispers, breath warm against her lips. “I’ve missed you.” 

“Liar,” she says. She keeps her eyes open as she presses her mouth to his. She can taste blood on his lips. She wonders if it’s hers. “Why do you keep haunting me?” 

“Is that what I’m doing?” he asks, sliding his hand into her hair and kissing her firmly, smearing her face with blood. “Am I a ghost?” 

“No,” she says. “But you are dead.”

“You sound like my brother,” Richie says, loosening his hold on her and lowering her to her feet. “I may be dead but I’m still me.”

“Can’t be something you’re not in dreams,” Kate whispers, the half-forgotten words popping into her head. She turns in his arms, stares at Santanico’s statue in the VIP section. She sways a little, still moving to the music that hasn’t stopped playing. “Daddy said you were judgement. Punishment from God for Momma.”

“There is no God except for her,” Richie whispers, pressing himself against her. “Except for us.”

Kate tilts her head and sighs, “We’re not gods.”

“Not yet,” Richie says. He covers one of her hands with his own, pulls it away from her palm up. She hears the soft click of his knife, the black obsidian one that won the knife throwing contest, and then he’s pressing the tip to her palm. It doesn’t hurt, doesn’t do anything but create a thin red line crossing the one Richie left before. 

The room shifts again and they’re in a small tool shed. Kate is in her bloody clothes from the Twister, dream and memory twisting together even tighter. Santanico’s statue is set up on a table surrounded by candles. There are no chairs here, no small gifts left at Santanico’s feet. Someone's private altar then but she doesn’t know where. 

“Leave me a breadcrumb, Kate,” Richie whispers, cold lips brushing against her cheek. She lets him press her hand to the statue, leaving behind a red smear. 

-

She wakes up in a cold sweat, heart pounding in her chest. 

She gets out of bed, pulling her shorts on and sliding her feet into her shoes. She tucks her shirt in and knows what she has to do - where she has to go. She pulls her gun and stake from beneath her pillow, tucking both into her pants, and leaves the hotel room. 

She doesn’t know what time it is but the moon is full and the air feels cold against her hot skin. She turns down the street and starts walking. She knows she’s going towards an altar. There’s no other place that her feet could take her right now. It’s a new town, streets that are unfamiliar to her but she walks them with confidence. 

She’s not sure what she’ll find when she gets there. If it’ll be anything other than a statue and some candles. If it’ll be Richie or Seth. Something else. But she follows the tugging inside of her nonetheless, the streets twisting and turning in an endless pattern that she barely clocks.

She slips in through the ripped screen door of a small hut at the edges of the town - where the desert starts to creep back in. The floor is littered with food wrappers and empty beer bottles. There’s a mattress in the corner that smells strongly of urine, making Kate scrunch up her nose in distaste. Someone lives here but they’re gone now, candles nearly burned out where they sit at the statues feet.

There’s someone standing in the shadows, eyes glowing in the darkness. She knows who it is, can feel it in her gut. Part of her is surprised but part of her knew it was inevitable. 

“Hello Kate,” Richie says softly, voice rough and hoarse like it was that first sunny afternoon. He steps out of the shadows to stand beside the Santanico statue. He’s not wearing his glasses but he is wearing a suit. Soft black velvet trimmed and fitted to his wide shoulders. His hair looks soft, falling into his eyes slightly, not slicked back tight. 

“Richie,” she says. He smiles softly, looks down at his shoes like some sweet church boy. Well he’s no boy and this ain’t her church. “What are you doing here?” 

“You called me here,” he says, raising his eyebrows at the statue - a stain of blood marking her blue dress. She licks her lips, thumbs the thin scar on her palm that never seems to heal. She closes her hand into a fist and resists the urge to reach for her gun. 

“I didn’t,” she whispers. She takes a cautious step forward, feels a sense of ease sink into her skin when he mimics her. She feels pulled to him, feet still itching to carry towards something - towards him. “That was a dream.” 

“More than that,” he says, smirking like they’re sharing some inside joke. “You know that. You feel it. You’ve felt it since the Dew Drop Inn.” 

“Why me?” she asks. She can’t help the way her voice breaks, can’t help letting the hurt seep out of her. 

“She didn’t choose you,” he says, looking at the statue with intense, adoring eyes. It twists something tight in Kate’s chest that she doesn’t have time to identify, that she doesn’t want to identify. He looks back at Kate, eyes wide with purpose. “That was Carlos being sneaky. Trying to make their break for freedom easier for her. She swears she didn’t know.” 

“And you believe her?” 

“I don’t have a reason not to,” he says with a shrug. He steps towards her but she keeps her distance. “We’re not monsters, Kate.” 

“I’m not sure what you are,” she says with a shake of her head. “I’m not sure what I am. Who I am.” 

“You’re Katie-Cakes,” he says, face serious in a way that makes no sense. It’s a stupid nickname Momma gave her when she was little. She never had the heart to ask them to stop calling her that. Not until the end. 

“Not anymore,” she says. “Not after that night.” 

He steps into her space, leans down over her and noses her hair. She freezes. He inhales deeply and pulls away, staring above her head. “Smell like Katie-cakes.” 

He looks down his nose at her, leans back a little to look her up and down. He doesn’t leer at her, doesn’t look at her like a piece of meat, but she feels the want there all the same. It burns her skin through her clothes, makes a similar want stir in her stomach. It’s that heady feeling from her dreams, the same one that had her burying her hand in her underwear. 

She doesn’t know if he’s always had this power over her, if she’s always preened under his intense cornblue gaze, opening wide for him. She chokes back the feeling, chokes back the urge to tilt her face up to his. They're still in a den of snakes and she hasn’t forgotten what he actually is. 

“Look like Katie-cakes,” he says, voice husky. He reaches a hand out, drags a finger down her wrist to grab her hand. Curls their fingers together like they did in the RV. He smells sweet, like honeysuckle and lake water. It makes her think of that last summer with Momma and she doesn’t know if it’s really him or the spell he’s putting her under. “Feel like Katie-cakes. Bet you still taste like Katie-cakes too.” 

“Stop it,” she whispers when he pulls her forward against his chest. She tilts her head back to look at him, pours venom into her glare. “Don’t play games.” 

His flirty little smile falls from his face as his features fall into a blank mask. He stills his entire body, freezing so that he’s more statue than man. He stops breathing, stops blinking. Becomes what he actually is without actually changing his face. She tries to free her hand but his grip is strong and solid like stone. She tugs one more time, mouth opening to beg him to set her free, before he finally lets go. 

“No more games,” he says, taking a step back and she feels the pressure of him leaving her mind. She wobbles for a second, blinks a couple of times as the fog around her seems to lift. “But you did call me here. Dream or not. Never would have found you otherwise.”

“Why did you need to find me?” she says. “Seth left. Months ago.” 

“I’m not looking for my brother,” Richie says with an exasperation that makes her think that this isn’t the first time someone has asked him about Seth. 

“He’s looking for you,” Kate says because she can’t help it. He deserves to know that, despite whatever happened between them in that temple, Seth hasn’t given up on him. Not entirely, at least. “That’s why he left. To find you. Did he?”

“No,” Richie says and doesn’t explain more than that. She raises her eyebrows, hoping for more. But he just cracks his neck and adjusts the lapels of his suit. “Besides, he’s not needed. Not yet at least.” 

“And I am?” 

“Everybody has a purpose,” he says with a nod. “We’re all players in this game.” 

“I thought she didn’t want me,” Kate says, resists the urge to stomp her foot like a little kid. “I thought it was Carlos.” 

“Plans change,” Richie says softly. “When Carlos brought you in, lined us up to meet, everything changed. For all of us - Santanico, me, Seth, you. We’re all connected and there’s nothing we can do to sever those connections.”

“You sound awfully sure of all of this,” she says slowly. She steps back, finds that it’s easy. Easier than it had been only moments ago. “Like you believe all of it.” 

“Things change when you die,” he says with a shrug. “My vision is clearer now. I’m 20/20.”

“Santanico do that for you?” she asks, feeling bitter over it. Bitter for Seth. For her family. For herself. 

“Yes,” he snaps, losing his still calm for a split second. “You gonna give me shit for it too?” 

She rolls her eyes and turns away from him. The room seems less magical now. She can’t see past the dirty floor, can’t smell anything other than the piss soaked mattress in the corner. The statue seems less holy, more like a cheap imitation of the Mother Mary. 

“So why am I here?” she asks, waving a hand around them. “Why mess with my head to get me here?” 

“I wasn’t messing with your head,” he groans, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looks around the room, sucking his teeth. “I was trying to show you the truth.” 

“Her truth,” she snaps. “Her visions and her truth.” 

“I know you won’t believe me but she doesn’t control me anymore,” he says, voice flat. “At the beginning. Yes. It was her. To get me to the Twister but after I turned. After the labyrinth.” 

“We all changed,” she finishes for him, speaking aloud a truth that she’s been fighting for so long. 

“Something was unlocked. In us. You, me, Seth,” he says. His eyes widen just a fraction, looking more like a zealot preaching the word than the man she thought she might know. “We’re all part of something greater than all of this.” 

“Richie,” she says, holding her hands up. He steps up to her and grabs her wrists, pulling her to him. She looks up at him, frowning. “Please.” 

He lets go of a wrist to wrap a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her closer as he says, “We’ve been tied together for so long, tugging each other forward and backwards and sideways. You’ve felt it since I saw you bleeding out in that pool. I know you have. You just have to lean into it.” 

“Richie, I don’t want it,” she says softly. “I just want to be a girl again.” 

“I know,” he whispers, pressing cold lips against her hot forehead.

“Why me?” Kate whispers, voice thick with unshed tears. She closes her eyes and leans into him, pressing her hands to his lower back and clutching his suit jacket in her tiny fists. “Why does it have to me?”

He coos something about purity and light into her hair but it does nothing to calm the pounding of her heart. She’s drowning in his smell again and there are tears pouring down her cheeks. She didn’t think that she was this girl anymore, that she needed to feel a Gecko around her just to feel human anymore. 

And she is human. Tragically, mortally human. Her narrow shoulders weren’t meant to carry this kind of prophecy. No matter what Richie says. 

“The sacrifice,” she mumbles once her tears have dried. She pulls away from Richie and looks up into his eyes. They’re shining brightly in the dim candles, otherworldly and all seeing. “They have to finish it now. Don’t they?” 

“It’s more than that,” Richie says softly, wiping at the salt that’s drying on her cheeks. “More than just a sacrifice. What Carlos wanted was simple - the most basic of things. What Santanico wants. What she needs. It’s so much more.”

“That’s why you sent the culebra after me,” she says with a nod. She can taste the bitterness at the back of her throat. She swallows it down, feels it turn her stomach. “All of this. The dreams and the promises. It’s all been for her.”

“It’s what she wants,” Richie says, voice flat. 

“And what do you want, Richie?” 

He blinks and looks away from her, breaking eye contact for the first time since he stepped out of the shadows. He talks of magic and destiny and gods without any hesitation, doesn’t look away from her once while sharing his truths. But it’s this question that unsettles him, that breaks that sure fire concentration. 

“I want to set you free,” he says softly. “Let me set you free.” 

“It’s too late for that, Richie,” she says, pulling out her stake and pressing it to his chest. He doesn’t look surprised that she came prepared. In fact, he looks pleased, proud of her almost. “And I ain’t no sacrifice.”

“You gonna stake me, Kate?” he asks through his teeth.

“Please, Richie,” she whispers. 

“I’ll do my best to keep her away but it won’t last forever,” Richie says. He straightens his suit, slicks his hair back with both hands. “I suggest you move on. I won’t be the only one to have followed the breadcrumbs. You know that.” 

She opens her mouth to ask him to come with her. To run away with her. Run away from all this prophecy and destiny and magic, run away from Santanico and culebras and altars. They could be free, looking for Seth and Scott and anything that could fill the gaping holes inside of them both.

He’ll say no. Just like he did to his brother. Just like he keeps doing every time he goes off to do Santanico’s bidding. She knows this, knows it so fucking well.

“Better get going,” Richie says, nodding back towards the wire she slipped through to begin with. He sniffs loudly and straightens his spine, sliding his hands into his pockets. She knows that face, knows the detached look in his eye. He raises an eyebrow at him and drops down the corner of his mouth in boredom. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

Kate bites her lip, hesitating for just a second. It's long enough for Richie. He reaches forward and presses his mouth to hers, hard and unyielding. It’s nothing like the kiss from the Titty Twister, nothing hesitant or soft about it. It’s mean and cruel and it takes everything in Kate not to respond to it. 

She remembers a time when a kiss like this would disgust her, would turn her away from whoever tried it. But something about Richie, about this place, about what they’ve gone through has her reaching out to grip the lapel of his suit with her free hand. 

“Just wanted a reminder,” Richie murmurs as he pulls away, breath cool against her wet lips. Kate swipes her tongue the seam, gathering the taste of him. He smirks a little, corner of his mouth ticking upwards. “And I was right. You do taste the same.”

“Don’t come after me again,” Kate hisses, pushing him away with the stake. She doesn’t mean it. He knows that she doesn’t mean it. “I _will_ kill you.”

“No,” he says simply with a shrug. “I don’t think you will.”

She doesn’t answer back, just spins on her heel and runs into the night.


End file.
